Waking from my screams yet again,
the nights are oh, so fuckin long.
I still hate this fuckin time of year.
The nightmares, they still exist, you know,
walls drenched with my blood,
it seems I never did really escape.
Nowhere's far enough to fuckin run
to get away from all the fuckin pain,
the fuckin anguish and the fuckin fear.
My mind recreates it every damn night
as though you're standing right the fuck here
screaming that I'm gonna fuckin die "bitch"
and how you will fuckin kill me
and that you'll make sure it
damn well comes true,
while the scent of my blood fills the air
as I run the fuck away from you.
I fucking hate this time of year.
The anniversary of
the night you fuckin tried your
best to fuckin kill me.
While you fuckin lied and told me it was love.
07/01/2001
© kristy ellison flake